


Until the morning creeps

by pauraque



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-01
Updated: 2004-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pauraque/pseuds/pauraque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every night we close our eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the morning creeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rozarka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozarka/gifts).



Spender is far too tall, and far too old, to be sleeping on a couch. He realizes this when he disentangles himself and stands up, and every joint in his body protests. There's a sharp pain like a pin sliding between two of his vertebrae.

Without turning on the lights, he goes out onto his balcony to smoke the first of the day. In Washington, the air can't ever be said to be fresh, but at least it's cold. It's still dark out; there's a yellowblue glow on the horizon. Another morning, he might smoke five more. Watch the sky go from black to purple to gold. But this isn't one of those mornings. He comes back inside and goes silently into the bedroom. Stops in the doorway.

They're so beautiful.

Curled up facing each other in his bed, half covered by his sheets. The girl looks worried even in sleep, her forehead against the boy's chest, her arm over his hips. Blond hair long and clean and loose around her face. Downturned mouth, grave, pouting.

But the boy's sleep is profoundly relaxed, his jaw slack, his naked back facing the door. Long dark eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

The boy's clothes are hung over the back of the chair. Spender pulls the chair over to the side of the bed and sits watching them for a minute, half-thinking they'll awaken from the pressure of his eyes alone. The girl shifts uncomfortably, murmurs in her sleep, clutches tighter to the boy's hips. The boy may as well be comatose.

Spender leans in and touches the boy's arm, lets his hand rest on it. Feels the heat of the skin, the countour of the muscle beneath. Smooth, taut skin, bluegrey in the glow through the thin venetian blinds. He rubs gently, squeezes.

The boy stirs, rolls over towards the touch. Opens his eyes. Almost black, like deep water in moonlight. To his credit, the boy doesn't startle. Just looks with those liquid-dark eyes, betraying no consciousness, intelligent the way an animal's eyes are intelligent.

"What time is it," he mumbles roughly.

"Almost five-thirty."

The boy closes his eyes and stretches with a groan, arching his back almost wantonly. Rolls over and touches the girl on her shoulder. "Marita," he says. Just the touch, the word, and she's awake, ice blue eyes crusted with sand, and slightly fearful. She rubs her face. Alex glances back at Spender, rolls forward and kisses Marita's neck. A small, tasting kiss, open mouth, hint of sharp pink tongue. A taunting gesture directed entirely at Spender.

Who stands up, stands over them. "Get up," he says acidly. "We'll be late." And stalks out.

Alex sits up and puts his feet down on the floor. He yawns hugely, a whine at the back of his throat like a dog. "'S too early," he mumbles, running fingers through his hair.

Marita curls up around him, buries her face in his naked side, smells him. Male sweat - doesn't quite cut through the ambient stale tobacco. The bed is soft, and it's cold in the room. She tries halfheartedly to kick the sheets off, only succeeds in tangling them around her legs. Makes a disgusted face. "I feel like I've slept with him."

Alex twists around and looks down at her, lopsided coyote smile. "Do you think he jerks off in bed?"

She wrinkles her nose and bites him in the flank. He makes a noise like it feels good. "I hate you," she mumbles with her mouth against him.

He almost laughs. It's nothing more than a single sharp outbreath, but she recognizes it. Her eyes fall shut. His weight disappears from beside her; the mattress pushes against her cheek as it springs back up. There's the buzz of his fingernails against the sheet as he takes the gun from under Spender's pillow. Two soft steps. "Don't fall asleep," he purrs.

She opens her eyes. He's midstep, half-turned to look back at her, naked in the near-dark, gun in his hand. The window makes tiny bright reflections in his eyes. A twisted little smile. Some kind of sick fairy creature, cat, assassin.

"I won't," she says.


End file.
